


move

by zanykingmentality



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, Ice Cream Parlors, Introspection, No Romance, Platonic Relationships, guys... i love them so much, peter is so good i would give my life for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:39:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanykingmentality/pseuds/zanykingmentality
Summary: Peter swipes away the tears before they can fall and grins brightly up at Mr. Stark. “It’s just so cool!”In return, Mr. Stark offers him a wary, but relieved smile. The quirk of his lips is small. It makes Peter’s heart clench when he thinks of what might have happened to Iron Man to warrant that reservation, that careful calculation to each and every move.(in which Peter has feelings and Tony's heart goes soft.)





	move

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pluviious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluviious/gifts).



> this goes out to one of my best friends, kate, who i called after watching infinity war to cry to. hope you like it bby! 
> 
> it's taken me a while to write this because i wanted to make sure i got it just right... but then i decided to just finish it. and here it is! i love both of them both individually and together. tony isn't the best father figure but he's just so. i have so many feelings about this. anyway! unbetad, like usual. enjoy~

Some part of Peter Parker wants the bad boy high school experience. The kind that finds students behind abandoned buildings, joints and flasks in their hands, smoke settling the air around them. There was something glamorous about that kind of life, an allure to being a wannabe adult. But then, Peter has also always wanted the internship at Google, the world-famous name brand and magazines with his face on it. But overall, he wants to love and be loved. 

 

His term paper for English starts like this:  _ To have freedom is the privilege of those brave enough to fight for it. _

 

When he dangles his feet over the edge of a building he dials Happy’s number again. The phone rings twice and goes to voicemail ― call rejected. That’s okay. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson, one of these days. 

 

“Hey, Happy. Report for today. Uh… I fixed a candy dispenser for a little kid. You know, the kind you put a quarter in and it gives you a little gumball. Update me with new missions. Over and out.” 

 

* * *

 

Aunt May did her best to raise him to respect, to love, to heal. Peter has an infectious enthusiasm about him, the kind that makes her quirk her lips when she looks at him, even if he can’t tell why. May is the only family he has anymore. Part of the reason he keeps his identity secret is to keep her safe, to ensure that no villain appears in the dead of night and steals her away like they did with his parents. He doesn’t drop the  _ Mr. Stark _ no matter how many times Mr. Stark tells him to, because it doesn’t feel right to address someone so different and stronger than him by a first name. 

 

Even in the  _ after _ of the Vulture attack he has nightmares of stone slabs, cracking against his spine. Breathless, helpless. Can’t lift them, oh God, he’s going to die here, and all he can think about is how May will react when she reads about him in the paper. Imagine the headline:  _ Local Spiderman Revealed as High Schooler Peter Parker, Found Dead Under Collapsed Building. _ Then his dreams morph to him, spitting at an empty Iron Man suit, because it’s awkward but  _ God _ he wishes Mr. Stark were here. 

 

He wakes in a cold sweat those nights, his heart aching. The clock shows it’s too late at night to try and go back to sleep, too early in the morning to get ready for school. So he tinkers with web-like chemicals until the sun rises, and it’s business as usual. 

 

“‘Morning!” Ned chirps after an especially long night. Peter’s lips twist up into his trademark dorky smile. He is bright and he is  _ here.  _ Things are good. 

 

Later that day when he’s waiting for the bus in stifling heat, a car with a purr of an engine rolls to a stop in front of him. Peter’s eyes follow it as it moves, confusion and apprehension sizzling in the pit of his stomach. The window rolls down and Mr. Stark turns his head, shades perched firmly against the bridge of his nose. “Get in, kid.” Peter rushes to open the passenger side door, dropping his backpack to the floor of the car as he sits. 

 

“Mr. Stark, what’s going on?” There’s excitement there ― the kind that makes him want to bounce in his seat. Missions to prove himself, fighting bad guys to help Mr. Stark, even if he’s mostly content with himself at this point. 

 

“Figured I could take you home instead of the bus,” Mr. Stark responds. There’s nothing affectionate about the way he says it, indifferent and impersonal, but Peter grins anyway. He likes to think he knows Mr. Stark a little, now. The shades come off and the car accelerates. 

 

“Thanks,” he says, running a hand swiftly through his hair. He gets a cold flash for a split second ― the kind that makes him shiver despite himself. Mr. Stark doesn’t look at him. Instead of saying anything about it, Peter says, “Can we stop for ice cream?” 

 

Mr. Stark spares him a quick, surprised glance. “What? Why?” 

 

“I don’t know. I just have a craving.” Peter immediately takes Mr. Stark’s questions as rejection and tries to backtrack. “But I mean, we don’t have to, it’s probably easier if we don’t, and…” 

 

“Kid.” Mr. Stark flicks on the indicator and changes lanes. Peter falls silent. His leg bounces of its own accord, try as he might to sit still. The car rolls to a stop in front of some pastel ice cream parlor Peter didn’t even know about. It’s almost hard to imagine anything pure and bright in Queens, other than specific points like home and the occasional dog that passes by on the street. What was he thinking about again? Ice cream… 

 

His gaze flashes back to Mr. Stark, whose lips are turned up in the closest thing to a smile Peter’s ever seen him wear. Peter grins widely and hops out of the car, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Mr. Stark slams his own door shut and the car locks with a beep. Peter runs ahead, look back at Mr. Stark with a gleeful smile. 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark!” he says, hoping his voice can convey his gratitude. May takes him places, sure, but going with Mr. Stark makes him near ecstatic. A bell chimes when he pushes the door open. 

 

“Yeah, yeah” is all Mr. Stark says. 

 

Immediately he smells sugar and ice cream and chocolate  _ all at once. _ It’s the unmistakable air of an ice cream parlor, far enough off the beaten path that it’s yet to grow run-down by New York consumerism. Peter bounces up to the display case showcasing the different flavors of ice cream; he turns back and grins at Mr. Stark. “I wonder if there’s ever been an Iron Man flavor!” 

 

Mr. Stark glances down at the flavors, his eye catching on one in particular before looking away quickly. He jerks his thumb in the direction of the display case. “Check it out. Spiderman ice cream.” 

 

Peter’s eyes light up almost immediately. He presses his hands against the display-case glass, eyes skittering over the labels until he sees it:  _ Spiderman  _ in perfect cursive, over a tub of pink-red ice cream. His eyes start to water; never in his life ― fifteen years of being scared and watching as the people close to him gasped their last breaths in front of him ― has he felt this emotion, this exact feeling that coils around his heart and squeezes until he can’t breathe. 

 

“Kid?” Mr. Stark’s voice is carefully calm, and when Peter looks over there is worry in his eyes. He remembers, for a moment, that he’s just Peter Parker, uncool comic book geek at school, subject of bullying, professional stressed high schooler with something to prove. But for a moment he can be Spiderman, too ― he can be the one who has witty one-liners and picks up girls and hangs upside down from ledges to amazing random passersby. It’s not the bad-boy life exactly, but it’s something that’s uniquely his. For a moment, he feels irreplaceable. 

 

Peter swipes away the tears before they can fall and grins brightly up at Mr. Stark. “It’s just so cool!” 

 

In return, Mr. Stark offers him a wary, but relieved smile. The quirk of his lips is small. It makes Peter’s heart clench when he thinks of what might have happened to Iron Man to warrant that reservation, that careful calculation to each and every move. 

 

“Can we have some of the Spiderman ice cream?” Peter snaps back to attention when Mr. Stark orders for them. This might be too many emotions for his teenage brain to comprehend at once, but he’s always prided himself on being a little bit above average about expressing himself. (And hopefully at science too. That might be important later.) 

 

“Coming right up,” the person behind the counter says enthusiastically as Mr. Stark slides dollar bills over the counter. A few moments later she slides a cup of red ice cream over to them with a spoon, and Mr. Stark hands it to Peter when he does nothing but stare for a full ten seconds. He almost gapes at the cup in his hands before eagerly spooning it into his mouth. 

 

It tastes like colors. Like red chocolate and cookies fresh from the oven. It’s ice cream, but it tastes warm; the kind of warm that makes his heart constrict because he remembers who he is and who he has lost, and the way things are now, the constant anxiety of the future. But Mr. Stark claps him on the shoulder in all his jaded glory and says, “Any good?” and all Peter can do is nod. Mr. Stark fits a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and his face is unreadable. When Peter looks up at him, they make eye contact, and he feels less alone, feels loved, feels  _ needed _ . Mr. Stark knows all of him ― the vigilantism, the burning desire to prove himself, the love for  _ everyone _ that gets him to lie his cards face-up on the table. (All except one.) 

 

The cup is quickly empty. 

 

“Am I going home?” Peter asks. 

 

Mr. Stark hesitates. Just for a moment, but Peter picks it up. He’s ready to head back to the car when he hears: “Not yet, kid.” 

 

He grins. His muscles will be sore and he won’t finish all of his homework, but this? This is part of the reason he loves who he is so  _ much _ . 

 

They go down to headquarters and Peter trains until he feels ready to pass out. It’s beautiful. 

 

_ (Tony loves that kid from Queens, as much as he’s able to. It’ll set him up for a world of heartbreak. He knows that. But the kid’s grown on him so much that he doesn’t know what he’d do without him.) _

 

Peter Parker is not a bad-boy. He is not a loser, or a geek, or forgettable. He simply  _is._

**Author's Note:**

> anyway did you know? i adore them.


End file.
